Taste of Poison
by Mad Love
Summary: In the aftermath of the failed Arkham City project, a new reign of terror and chaos has begun. Through the miracle of science, The Joker has survived, but not everything is quite as perfect as it could be. A run-in with Batman sparks a vicious argument between the Clown Prince and his harlequin.
1. I tell myself that you're no good for me

**Authors' Notes:** Joker and Harley do not belong to us in any way. If anything, we belong to them XD; This story presented a unique problem in terms of formatting as it originated as a roleplay between the two of us. It was something of a challenge to convert into more of a story-like form and I hope we managed to pull it off.

Harley Quinn's parts were written by Quinn and Joker's parts were written by Ryn. The fight scenes that occur had to be combined into something a little less…"separate" to work and, thus, contain elements of both of us. I'm sure we've made some grammatical errors along the way, some by accident and some for the sake of style, so be gentle with us in terms of criticism XD

As far as setting and character interpretations go, this comes from a site which is set after the Arkham City/Harley Quinn's Revenge timeline with the obvious difference being Joker's survival. As a result, the versions presented have a darker, occasionally Nolan-verse twist to them. They're both little more damaged now, each in their own ways.

* * *

Her return to Arkham did not herald any positive energies from Harley.

Oh, sure. She'd taken out more than a few innocents, even burning a family out of their home- Joker had known she was fuming, and when she'd steered off on another path, he'd allowed her. (Or so she assumed. She really had paid absolutely no mind to anything except dispelling the angry energy coursing through her.) He had been _right there_, in her grasp, and she didn't even get to make him _bleed_- though she mighta cracked a few vertebra, if she was lucky. He'd run. Like the damned coward he was, he'd run, after completely refusing to come to terms with his own crimes. He still claimed he was a hero, and how fucking dare he?! His bad day- the singular bad day Joker professed could hold so much of a grip on one's 'sanity'- had come and gone, and he was in denial of it.

It sickened her, and as she slammed through the door to the stairwell, wielding her bloody bat as a warning to any who might be within her reach as she moved through their base of operations, she was _hoping_ her men had something for her to work with. She wanted to sink her metaphorical claws into Bruce Wayne. _That_ should fuck with the Bat a bit. In fact, her men _better_ have something, or...

Harley froze. She blinked, expression becoming stormy as she realized that the room was...empty. No telltale red-and-black flashes of color that would point her men out to her. There was _nobody_. Growling, she promised herself heads would spin when they arrived. Winging her bat across the room, the harlequin wouldn't flinch as it slammed into the wall, instead making her way through to the room she shared with Joker. He didn't make her sleep apart from him, because, well, honestly, neither of them slept often enough for that to be an 'issue' as it had been in the past.

The crib was still in the corner, and she knew what it contained would give her the most twisted sort of comfort possible. Moments later, she'd retrieved the object, cradling it against her chest, gripping it as though it would keep her anchored to the earth. A doll, fashioned to resemble Joker, aptly nicknamed Junior in honor of their dead child, it was to this object that she always clung in her darkest moments. She couldn't trust that Joker would always be her willing anchor, he wasn't the 'clinging to' type, but this doll would never deny her. Pacing, back and forth, back and forth, she would clasp this doll to her chest, trying to count her breaths, calm herself down. Her time would come. _Their_ time, their _revenge_- and she knew that, but she had forgotten that the moment she had taken the first swing at Batman.

There was the lullaby, she was humming it again, slowly beginning to calm down, focusing on her steps and the doll in her arms. She'd let him see her weak. She'd cried in front of him. Her veil still hung down limply over her features, and that- that showed him that she was still hurting. She realized this now, and _why_ had she let him see that? _It makes him underestimate me,_ she replied instantly to herself, although she surely had not thought of that then. This was justification to herself. She needn't do it for anyone else. If the henchmen who'd seen asked, they'd die, simple as that.

After their surprise run-in with none other than the batbrain himself, Joker was caught in an interesting spot. Oh he was downright giddy at the idea the masked man was back in the picture, even if he seemed way out of practice. Just what had he been doing while hiding? It didn't seem as if he'd been paying any attention to those typically troublesome skills of his. The gadgets remained a familiar presence, if a cheap escape. Perhaps little Harley's new skills had been more of a curve ball than either of them had expected?

Speaking of.

She'd gone on quite the little rampage. Joker had followed, casually, along as the girl carved out her path of destruction. The best part had probably been when the family came running, panicked, out of their burning home only to find Harley there waiting for them. Kids and all. The clown appreciated a good structural fire and had lingered a little while to watch, but he didn't really let her get too far from him. He'd let her indulge her anger...until they returned to the asylum compound.

He arrived maybe twenty minutes after she got there, strolling leisurely to the area they currently inhabited. A glance was spared to the looming mansion as he'd passed by and a thought was given to relocating. The asylum itself was familiar, he knew ever inch, but why shouldn't they enjoy every inch of the island they controlled? Especially if they were expecting future guests? The cells of the asylum itself would prove useful for containing said guests.

The first thing he noticed upon entering what passed for their main room, their little base within a base, was the emptiness. Not a single one of her men or his anywhere in sight. That wasn't unusual, really, he often left general orders for chaos, or encouraged them to pull smaller jobs on their own time. Although, for their sake, he hoped they were still working on the last set of orders he'd given them. He expected every scrap of information on the Wayne family when they got back. Until then, there were other things on his mind. Like Harley's little confession back in the alley.

He paused in the doorway, watching her in silence as she paced and effectively blocking the exit. Only when she seemed to have calmed herself would he speak, slow and lower-pitched than usual. **"You sur****_prised_**** me tonight..."** Not in a good way, oh no. It was a mixture of disappointment and anger that had been festering in him since he'd overheard her speech. It had been pushed away long enough to enjoy their meeting with the bat, but after that it had crept back in.

Harley knew he was there, oh sure- it was hard not to notice the lanky shape looming in the doorway out of the corner of her vision. Except, until her mind was straightened out- or until he deemed it necessary to speak to her- she wouldn't focus on him. This was one of those rare occasions when she needed to focus on herself. She was stroking the false hair of the doll, eyes distant and yet not, slowly working out in her mind logical reasoning for all she had done that night- like what she'd screeched at the bat. What she'd been unable to stop herself from saying.

It was the tone of his words that brought her back to reality. What caught her attention first was how low his voice was- and how slow he spoke. What she could assume from that was a brewing storm. After all, she knew his little ticks, knew how to differentiate a good night from a bad one simply by the tone of his voice. She'd endured a lot beside him, had seen sides of him nobody would ever see and live- nobody except for her. It only made sense, then, that she felt a huge sense of foreboding at his words.

And what was that she detected? Perhaps a bit of anger? A bit of..._no_. Seeming almost to ignore him, she crossed back to the crib, settling the doll in gently as though it were a real baby. She wasn't sure she wanted this conversation to go further, but she couldn't avoid it, and she knew it. If only she knew what was causing this, she might be a bit _braver_, but she couldn't remember the last time he'd taken such a tone with her.

She wasn't sure of what to say. She wasn't sure what to do, and as such, she did the only thing that came to mind- and perhaps the most dangerous, to be quite honest. She went to him. She reached for him, as though to embrace him, but stopped about a foot short- because something simply told her _no, stop_, something was...different. She'd become highly attuned to the man, and she knew that something was dangerously off-kilter here. Not that _he_ was off-kilter, per se, but...she could nearly feel the thin ice she stood on. She couldn't manage many words. **"Puddin'? What do you mean?"**

Silence reigned while she stalled. His gaze, cold and hard, followed every little move she made. He didn't even spare a thought for the doll she'd insisted upon keeping as if it could replace what she'd - _they'd_ - lost. It was _not_ the same. Not by any stretch of imagination. If he burned it, would that destroy the delusion or destroy the girl? It was filed away in his mind as a possible course of action in the future, though the thing would likely remain safe unless the man was pushed to his own limit as far as temper went.

Finally, she turned, and came toward him as if to try getting her arms around him. He almost smirked when she stopped short. She knew. It had been a very long time since he'd fallen into such a mood. **"O****_hhhhh_**** she doesn't know?"** She wanted to play the innocent? Fine. They could do it the harder way, it didn't matter at all to him. If she wanted to subject herself to what she _must_ know was coming, he could do that.

Joker stayed in place, making no move or gesture toward her just yet, **"I gotta say...****_Haaarley_****...I'm a little...ah, ****_hurt_**** you'd tell the ****_Batman_****,"** Volume spiked at the name of his nemesis, the word clipped and more outright angry than the rest, **"more than you would ****_me_****."** Did she know he'd heard everything? Did she have any idea how long he'd been watching from the sidelines, hidden? He'd had his suspicions, given her behavior these past months, but no hard evidence.

He was abuzz with barely contained, violent, energy. The ominous calm before the storm. The man enjoyed the lead up, the tension that came when he would draw things out. In these moments he liked to watch her squirm, to watch the panic build in her eyes, until he finally struck. Then all hell would break loose. Their fights were nearly legendary in their violence, well above a simple domestic dispute.

Harley, herself, wasn't under any delusions about the doll. It was a doll. She knew this. It was something like a teddy bear to her, really. An item of comfort. Loss of the doll, hell, it would be one less thing to hold on to, but she wouldn't break. She was firm in her knowledge that the doll was not alive, was not the baby they'd lost. Still, she treated it tenderly. She _treasured_ it. She had very few comforts left in this world; her hyenas were _gone_, brutally killed and stuffed by that shit-for-brains bird man. She'd lost Junior. Even Joker, in his moments when he would give in to her- he was never truly one for _affection_, and at least with the doll, she needn't worry about rejection.

She caught the slight flex of muscles around his mouth, though he wouldn't smile or anything close to it. He was a man fully in control of his facial expressions, after all. But his _voice_...it sent chills down her spine. She knew there were secrets between them, something that had _never_ happened before his pseudo-death. That subtle shift, it had _changed_ things, though for better or worse, Harley wasn't sure. Everything was more fragile than it had been before. She felt even less sure that she could truly be indispensable to him- after what she'd failed at, one of the biggest failures of her entire life. Even- and to flash back on her life before, it was rare, extremely so- even when she'd broken her ankle those years ago, ruining her gymnastics career, it had been nowhere _near_ the failure of being unable to protect their son. It was something she tortured herself over. She had failed him, and she _knew_ what happened when someone failed Joker.

Part of her wondered if he was biding his time, though she told herself over and over that his love for her made things different. She still had absolutely no doubts that he loved her, in his own way. But sometimes, love wasn't enough, was it? Oh, their special brand, their _mad love_, it had been through the worst kinds of hell and back...

His next words slammed into her, along with a realization- because there was one thing she'd said to Batman, right at the end of her little rant, _one thing_ she hadn't told Joker. And he'd appeared so quickly after she'd finished- so... she took a step back. He had heard. He knew she'd wanted to die. Was he...angry? Over _that?_ Honestly, she was ashamed, herself, in a way, but only because she had so blindly believed he had been killed. She should have had more faith in him. Pressing her lips together, she refused to turn her gaze, staying locked in his.

**"It's in the past, Mistah Jay. I ****_know_**** it was a blind choice. I thought you were ****_dead_****, if I had ****_known_****..."** She truly thought he was angry because perhaps it seemed she was partially attempting that as an escape. Death, an escape from him- as if she'd ever _want_ to escape. She'd told him time and time again that she wasn't ever leaving his side. She damn well meant it. Tone defensive, she continued, **"I wouldn'ta done it if I knew you were alive. You weren't showin' any signs of life- I thought the cure didn't take!"**

If only she knew how off-base her assumptions were.


	2. I could fight this til the end

It was a flash of sudden movement, his arm swinging up, the back of his hand catching her across the face right at the end of her own defensive response. With Joker, it wasn't a matter of trying to avoid pain, when _he_ swung, it was a matter of _taking_ the blow. It stung, sure. Hell, she knew his hand had left a hell of a mark on her face. But it was nothing new. Welcome to their arguments; starting and ending with violence. Oh, but where was the screaming? _That_ hadn't begun yet. **"I can't ****_stand_**** quitters, Harl."** It wasn't _quite_ a shout. Higher than his normal volume, true, but not there just yet. If he'd been aware of the path her mind had gone down, he might have laughed. He was _angry_ because she'd sought an easy out, yes, but not from the same thing she was thinking of. After so long, he'd pretty much gotten over the slight expectation that, one day, it would all be a little too much. That she'd wake up and the good little Doctor would return and send her running.

The next target was a grip on her throat, with the same hand he'd lashed out with already. He pulled her in, slamming - and pinning - her against the nearest wall. **"I thought you'd ****_learned_**** something, ...thought you'd ****_improved_**** over the years..."** Had all his effort been for nothing? He'd prepared her for every damn thing she could come up against. He _thought_ he'd prepared her to carry on in his absence. Honestly, the man had cheated death so many times now he was beginning to wonder if death was really possible for him. Joker had panicked a bit, yes. Enough to place his trust in the bat. The universe (or whatever) seemed to remain on his side, though. She'd been just in time.

The worst part of it hadn't even been the looming threat of a final end, the day he'd learn whether heaven or hell truly existed, it had been the hallucinations that came with the illness. Visions he didn't care to remember. She had no idea how many times he'd _died_ only to recover and jump back on the scene. **"Did I expect too much of ya, little Harley? Huh? Give ya a little ****_too much_**** credit?"** What good was a partner if they couldn't operate on their own in times of need? He _needed_ to know he could trust her to hold down the fort when he was out of commission and she'd failed him in that regard.

**"The ****_ONLY ONE_**** who gets to kill you is ****_ME_****."** Nobody else, not even herself. **"If I'm gone, you ****_keep going_****!"** He was shouting now, **"You ****_don't_**** take the ****_easy_**** way out!"** He'd always figured such a rule went assumed, unspoken. He didn't care what sort of internal turmoil she might have been going through, he didn't care how hopeless his own situation had looked, and he'd expected her to be strong enough to survive without him. Joker did not like to be wrong.

She wasted no time in turning her gaze to him again, eyes burning as a slow realization began prickling at her. Snatching her, slamming her into the wall, it jarred her, and it hurt, yes, but she latched onto his words with a stubbornness that kept the pain in the back of her mind. She could barely breathe, but she didn't care. Did he _really_ just call her...a quitter? Of all things, a _quitter_- and he wouldn't have used such a word to describe her trying to run away, would he? Her hands reached up, wrapping around his wrist.

All the while, he was berating her, belittling her own worth because she had- what? Yet the moment he declared _he_ would be the one to kill her, it all slammed into stark contrast for her. He was yelling, now, and oh, he was about to get it _straight back_. For the first time since they'd met, Harley was well and truly _completely_ pissed. At _him_. Wait, this was because she'd refused to live a life without him? _Was this really why he was pissed?!_

**"Don't you ****_ever_**** call me a quitter, ****_Boss_****,"** came her snarl, half-choked though it might be. She kept her smoldering stare steady on his, and for once, the tables seemed turned. Her anger was _quiet_ and his was _loud_. **"What do ya fuckin' think I am, huh? D'ya forget that I en't given up, not once yet? It ain't ****_givin' up_****, so don't you fucking say it is! ****_Easy way out?!_****"** How was that an easy way out? Did he really expect her to suffer through mental and emotional torment, day after day, fighting for absolutely nothing? He didn't understand. That much was obvious to her. She couldn't sit there and just...keep going on, like he had never been. Like _they_ had never been.

He had made her what she was. He was her driving force. It wasn't a matter of there being an easy or hard way out- it was sooner or later. She could survive whatever the world threw at her. Hell, she could royally fuck this city up if she truly wanted to. She'd shown how easy it was for her to capture the bat, steal their beloved vigilante, and hold him in her grasp. She could have killed him then, and dammit, now she was really thinking she should have. Her plan had been flawed, but... she'd had a plan. She wanted to go out with a bang, and she wanted to be with him again. How was that...quitting? **"So why don't you tell me, Boss? ****_Tell me._**** What fuckin' other way, huh? Spend my time screwing with Gotham, only to come home to nothin'? Doin' it for ****_nothin'_****?!"** To capitulate the end of this, she drew her right leg up, sending a kick straight to his stomach. She wanted to get him the fuck off of her and gain some space to maneuver.

_'Boss_.' The word flipped some sort of switch in his head, though, and the explosive anger smoothed out into cold rage. It had been a long time since he'd heard that word out of her mouth in such a way. Sure, she called him that when dealing with the henchmen...but that was different. His grip tightened, slowly, as she ranted, and he'd thank the years they'd spent together when she went to retaliate. He knew how to read her just as well as she could read him. He twisted when she kicked and captured her calf between his side and free hand, keeping the grip on her throat. The leg on that side shifted back, the other forward to catch the ankle of the foot she kept on the floor when he made his next move.

A twist, the man wrenching her away from the wall to throw her on the floor, hard. Hell, he'd follow her down if he had to, though that didn't seem to be necessary as she landed with a soft groan. **"As long as the bat lives, the game isn't over,"** He wasn't shouting anymore, his voice back to that dangerous growl, If they were gone...both of them..._he_ won. The bat really won. Joker couldn't have that. When it came time for the game to end (and that time was surely coming faster now) it would be Batman's demise. Only _then_ could whoever was left quit.

She scrambled to her feet, furious glare still in place, wanting to hit him, slap him, something to make him shut up, because she _knew_ what was coming next. And in fact, she was right- there was the bat, in the middle of things, as per _fucking_ usual. He couldn't ever do anything without involving the fucker.

**"I can't ****_count_**** the times I've crawled back from the edge of death, ****_Doctooor,_****"** If she could play the name game, so could he. He sought to do just what he'd done at the asylum, to so many doctors- use her soft spots against her. _Hurt_ her, and he did, the moment he referred to her as 'doctor'. That drawling way he spoke the title, it only served to enrage her further and he could see it in her eyes. **"All I expect is a little ****_faith_****."** He wouldn't justify his frantic plot to ensnare the batbrain, to force him to hunt down the elusive cure. Not right now. If he'd returned to find Harley dead and Batman alive? Well, if the world thought Gotham was bad _now_...he could just imagine the streets decorated with bits and pieces of their favorite hero.

**"How long did you wait, huh?"** If she'd mentioned it before it had never really registered with him, **"Did ya wait ta see if I'd gone ****_cold_**** before your little ****_stunt_****?"** After the cure had been given, had she waited a minute or a day? Joker was a tough man to kill, that had been proven time and again through various, lighter (if they could really be called that), encounters with the bat and others. There was some small part of him, barricaded deep within his mind, that recognized the slight hypocrisy of his accusations...but for the moment it was kept silent. True, with his perfect opponent well and truly gone, he'd likely give up the grand schemes and, maybe, retire. He wouldn't; however, seek to off himself.

She'd let him go off on his little tangent; she'd let him finish, oh, yes. But even as she absorbed the words, chest feeling as though it were throbbing from that damned title- _Doctor, I ain't been Doctor since we first met, even that first day, he switched, fucking bastard_- her hands were curling into fists. The tiny woman wasn't done, not by a long shot. **"Doctor, is it, huh?! Lemme give ya a ****_diagnosis_**** then, ****_Joker_****,"** she spat, _really_ crossing lines. Because since she'd become Harley-Quinn, she had never _once_ directly called him Joker. Not while they were alone. Only ever did she call him that on very rare occasions to henchmen. **"No matter how ya ****_feel_**** 'bout me, I'm still a fuckin' pawn, ain't I? Somethin' to help you win your little fucking ****_game_**** against that ****_Batbrain_****..."**

As her fist shot out, his head snapped to the side, following through with the blow...and then came the laughter. Everybody in the whole damn world was a game piece, even him. He'd likened it to chess on occasion. You had your pawns, and other expendable pieces, some were easy to use and some required more strategy. At the top, the king and queen. Them, the Clown and his Harlequin. She'd begun as a lowly little pawn, yes; she wasn't there any more. If she died, he'd have to go after everyone involved and anyone they'd ever held dear. He couldn't do that if it was her own damn _choice_, he'd never thought he'd have to plan for that day.

She sneered then, ready to call him something she knew he would absolutely hate. **"But what can I expect? You're a selfish man, an' obsessed. I shoulda known. How ****_predictable_**** of ya, am I right?"** Did he even realize how much that alone hurt her? That he wanted her to suffer, to live through torment, for the simple fact of killing the bat. Always, always, the bat. Did he ever _once_ think about her? Ever?! **"Of course I didn't wait. Freeze said you were ****_dead_****, and you can fucking hate me all ya want for it, but I was gonna finish off the bat and end myself, cause I didn't wanna live without you. It was my fuckin' choice."** A choice she was ashamed of, but a choice she would own up to. And he was getting so angry... so fucking angry, and really, it didn't make sense to her. Her mind flashed back, and she shook her head, a scornful laugh, a _hurt_ tone to it, accompanying her next words. **"'Sides, if you weren't dead? What did you ****_sing_**** to Batboy? ****_'You're my dream come true...My one and only you...'_**** Why the ****_fuck_**** would you even ****_care?!_**** I ain't the ****_bat_****. I'm just some ****_doctor_****."**

Selfish, possessive, obsessed, yes. Predictable? That was a low blow. Followed quickly by a fist aimed right for the girl's solar plexus. She saw it, though, and dodged away just in time. He'd thought she'd been there, each time he'd left a taunting, curious, or demanding message on the bat's communicator. He _thought_ she'd remember that final message and would appreciate the sarcasm of the moment. Had he been more out of it than he knew, then? Had she been little more than one of many hallucinations in those moments? **"Apples and oranges, Quinzel."** Another name he may have only used once in their history together, when they'd first met. It was quite possible there was some microscopic part of him that held a fondness for the years of animosity between himself and the caped crusader. That tiny part that may consider the batman the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend. Batman, for years, had been the only living soul out there that had seemed to understand him...until Harley came along.

Joker aimed a punch at her own jaw – and that one did connect, sending her stumbling to the side - **"I'm ****_disappointed _****in ya, "** He'd put her through physical, emotional, and psychological _hell_ to build her up to the point she was at today, **"thought ya were ****_stronger_**** than that..."**

**"I don't see weakness,"** she spat in response, rubbing her jaw and turning to glare at him.

The idea that he could, one day, come back to whatever little hole he was using at the time to find her permanently gone... it was strange. He couldn't (or wouldn't) put a name to the emotion twisting uncomfortably in his gut. A hand flashed out, grabbing her by one of her ponytails, to pull her back toward him, **"You ****_don't_**** leave me."** It was strangely quiet, a drastic change from the sarcasm or the anger or the screaming. People died, that was a fact of life, a fact he wantonly reinforced through his little plots, yet he'd pulled her out of danger time and again, **"Have...a little... ****_faith_****."**

Even if she ran away after this, he knew it would only be a matter of days before either she returned or he tracked her down. It had happened too many times before.

She felt her shoulder brush against some part of him, but now, she closed her eyes, refusing to look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of the turmoil he might see there. _You don't leave me._ But his tone had changed, strangely enough. She didn't hear anger, sarcasm- it was just a statement. Not even a threat. A few tears spilled through closed lids as she tried to turn her face away from him, huffing. **"I wasn't tryna leave you, can't you see that?! And, oh, what, I'm s'posed to let ****_you_**** leave ****_me?_**** Fat chance, Mistah Jay-"** and she couldn't help her nickname for him slipping through, but continued on as if she hadn't let it slip-**"- you ain't leavin' me, either."** Finally, her eyes opened, and she looked up with a stubborn, obstinate expression, though a few tears still stayed trapped in her eyes. **"Goes both ways."**


	3. But maybe I don't want to win

The whole scene had been unusual for them. Fights between the two leaned toward physical violence with a few stinging words tossed back and forth before she'd storm out. This, though, had the feeling of something that may have been brewing for much longer than either of them might have realized. The way she'd acted after they'd been reunited, his increase in the frequency she was followed and the number of men he sent, then her (accidental?) confession in the alley. _Why_ was he so furious over the idea that, believing him to be truly dead, she'd sought her own way out? It was...complicated.

It didn't matter if _she_ didn't see what he did, or if they had different definitions or measures of weakness in others. The logic was there, it made sense in his head, it was just a twisted, winding path.

His free hand would come up, capturing her chin in his grip, conveniently enough right about when she turned to look up at him on her own. He didn't much like the way she'd avoided looking at him and didn't want it happening again until they were done or she said something that sparked another violent reaction. A short laugh escaped him, **"Oh, I plan on being around for a ****_long_**** time,"** She simply needed to trust in that. It wasn't as if he'd be stupid enough to try that flawed formula on himself again. He'd stopped production of that after his brush with death. The small stockpiles he'd kept had been destroyed and he had lost his source of a very important base ingredient.

Both ways...yeah. He supposed it did now. He'd underestimated her reaction to losing him, _really_ losing him. It was something that wouldn't happen again. **"A little trust, Harley, a little faith...that wasn't the first time I've 'died'..."** And it probably wouldn't be the last. The man lived a dangerous life, after all, they both did. Hell, maybe that chemical vat so many years ago had changed more than just his appearance. Maybe it had boosted his resilience to abnormal levels...it would explain how he'd been able to recover from many of the things he'd endured.

This last time had felt so...final, though. It had been the first time he'd nearly met his end through illness, of all things. Violence he was familiar with, it was comfortable. To waste away as he had? It was...well...terrifying...though he'd never admit that out loud. It had pushed him to drastic measures and maybe he'd harbored a slim hope of taking one other person with him if it really was the end. He'd expected Harley to carry on if that happened, trusted her to-...to carry on and raise their-... He couldn't finish the thought, though his eyes darted toward the derelict crib for a fraction of a second.

Harley was beginning to realize that her anger came more from _hurt_ than anything else, and that was allowing her to calm down some. It was something he'd said- _You don't leave me_- that was currently filling her head, because he hadn't worded it that way before. It wasn't unusual for her to read more into things than she really should.- and she was hoping that this was really giving her a bit more insight on _why_ he was so angry.

It wasn't that she'd been..._giving up_ on the game, had it? The next conclusion was easy enough a leap for her- he didn't want her to kill herself because he cared. Even in the ups and downs of their relationship, her conviction that he loved her would never falter. For the first time since their argument had began, her gaze softened. **"I know, and ****_you_**** gotta understand I ain't ever leavin' ya. ****_Ever._****."** Another infallible conviction of hers. He was all she truly had, anymore. Her family was long gone, and they would never _understand_ anyways. Joker might've seen it as breaking her, what he'd done, but he'd simply opened her eyes. She could see with the clarity he could, had been able to ever since the night he'd been dragged back to Arkham, bloodied and beaten by the dark vigilante.

But did he really understand that? Sure, there was Red- Red was a friend, a good friend, but Harley didn't _really_ connect with her. It seemed legitimately impossible for her to form real connections with anyone, nowadays. If Joker were to toss a few words over his shoulder one day, tell her to go kill the woman, she'd do it without a second thought. It wasn't really that she was submissive to him to such an extent- tonight showed she could damn well speak her mind when she had issues with anything that he said or did. No, it was more that she trusted him more than she'd ever trusted anyone, even before she had 'opened her eyes'.

She reached, wrapping her arms around Joker's waist, to pull herself closer to him. She _did_ have faith in him. **"I do, Puddin'. I really do, it's just, ya weren't ****_breathin'_****, ya weren't movin', I...I tried all I could, nothin' was workin', I thought..."** The tears that had faded were back, now. To even remember that moment of screaming at Freeze, asking _why_ he wasn't waking up, why he wasn't breathing, why he wasn't...it had crushed her. Totally and completely, it had crushed her. She simply couldn't lose him. Harley couldn't even begin to explain the pain she'd felt, because there was nothing comparable, not even close. **"I'm sorry..."**

He'd thought he could be certain she wouldn't leave him. He'd thought that if that day ever came, her life would end by his own hand. There was something in her eyes or her face that seemed to satisfy him, though, as he released his grip on her hair and let that hand fall to his side. She wouldn't leave. He had to believe that because if he couldn't trust _her_ to stick by him through everything by now...it had all been for nothing. He'd shattered the world view she once held, opened her up to a clearer vision, and helped her become what she was today. Broken, and pieced back together into a better version of what she'd been. His pet project, yes, but his partner above all; now more than then.

So far, it seemed like this wouldn't end with her storming out and avoiding him for a few days, which was good as they had quite a bit of plotting ahead of them once the boys came back. For their sakes, they had better have useful information when they did return. Birth or death records, a family tree, bank records, anything they could use to figure out any possible connection to the bat.

He didn't move when she pulled herself closer. The grip on her chin was released, but for the most part he'd simply stand there and let her do as she wanted. How long _had_ it taken him to fully return to consciousness? He knew he'd been frozen for a while, similar to how Freeze kept his wife barely alive, and that the cure had taken a while to kick in. She apologized, though, and that smoothed out the residual anger. So much for predictability.

Joker's mood couldn't be described as anything close to pleasant just yet, of course. He was really closer to neutral than anything else at the moment. He'd been furious and for what seemed, now, a foolish reason. Or was it, really? That deep part of his mind knew why, too bad he wasn't letting it share the reasoning with the rest of his brain. It was something he would contemplate, off and on, as he had for all the years they'd been together, but he'd never allow himself to really admit anything to anyone. Even himself. He was the cold, sadistic, sociopathic, demonized man that terrorized others for fun. He enjoyed blood and fire and bombs and hilariously gruesome deaths. Warmer, more...human...feelings had no place in that mix. He'd convinced himself of that long, long, ago. He had a certain level of affection for the girl, that much was obvious to any who watched them together on one of his good days, but was it love? Well. Joker wasn't telling.

**"Good."** A single, quiet, word. His way of accepting the little apology.

Perhaps she had been a bit...hasty. If he were to ask her, once more, how long he'd lain there, unmoving, unresponsive, she might've said hours- because it had felt that way, to her. Yet, in reality, if he were to ask Freeze, he would get an exasperated response along the lines of _It wasn't even ten seconds before she panicked and flew out in a rage._ In all truth, she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she'd charged off much too quickly. She hadn't given a true chance for him to be revived, so horrendously was she affected by the mere idea of losing him. She'd lost everything else in her life.

Perhaps her logic was that she was destined to lose everything she held dear. So quickly, her hyenas were dead and stuffed, her unborn child murdered, and her love- unresponsive. Of course she expected him to die, too. It was just how things were going, wasn't it? She was losing everything, and it was ripping the woman to pieces. Irrationality was not too far-fetched a term to use in description of what had caused her to react as she had. And now- now, he spoke of faith, and the next time he _'died'_, one could only hope that it would make a difference.

She pulled herself closer, laying her head against his chest. He wouldn't respond, but he rarely did- that was fine. It was large enough a feat that he would allow her to touch him like this. **"I'm not goin' anywhere tonight, either...not unless ya want me to..."** An assurance that, no, she would not run off to the green woman he fairly well despised. Well...perhaps not despised, but he held no kind feelings towards Red. She knew he did not approve of the friendship, because of how Red spoke of him, but he allowed it. Tonight, though, even though this had quite possibly been their worst fight yet- she wouldn't leave.

Part of her was hoping that he would finally succumb to sleep tonight, that she would get the chance to share the bed with him, even if she wouldn't sleep- and she knew, after tonight, she most definitely wouldn't. But she could be content, could be more at ease if he was nearby. He seemed to help push her demons away, if only temporarily- how very amusing, considering many thought him to be the source of all torments she suffered. No, he kept her safe, whether he knew it or not. It was when she felt alone that she was vulnerable.

He listened to the silence for a moment, trying to pick out any little sounds that may tell them the henchmen had returned, but there was nothing beyond the noises of the building itself. Joker had no idea what time it was, though he was certain the boys had been off on their little mission for more than a few hours. Realistically, it could take days to gather everything they wanted and if the guys were smart enough they wouldn't bother to come back until they had every little scrap.

That could be a problem, though, as the clown couldn't really start planning anything solid until he knew what they had to work with. What if they didn't have anything at all? What if the information had been lost or destroyed or had never existed in the first place? He supposed they could revert to the old plan and target just the bat himself, but that seemed pale in comparison to what he'd cooked up.

He moved away, toward the makeshift desk tucked against the wall. Though, oddly enough, a single finger would be allowed to drag along the railing of the crib as he passed by, almost absentmindedly. His aim was the blueprints and other little maps scattered across the desk. The only reason they were in this building, currently, was that their other project hadn't yet been completed. **"Construction is nearly complete on the old mansion, we should be able to relocate by the end of the week."** A change of subject as the whole scene was getting a little too _sappy_ for his tastes.

He'd been there nearly every day to see how it was going. Honestly the crew didn't seem to be working as quickly as he'd like, but it was nearly done. A few final touches to the old warden's office, among other rooms, and they could let the crew go. Joker certainly didn't plan to _pay_ the men, of course. Nor did he really intend to let them leave the island compound. He had a plan for them.

He slipped from her grasp, finally, leaving her aching a bit, but that was, again, normal. She did take note of the way he drew his finger alongside of the crib, sparking a small reminder in her mind when he did mention the mansion. Ah, the _mansion_. She'd been meaning to do a bit of work there, herself. She needed two rooms, she'd told him, even though she would share a room with him still- one to convert to a nursery, due to her hopes of again becoming pregnant, and the other, well, a mystery to Joker. A surprise, or so she'd told him, refusing to elaborate on the subject.

As far as the nursery went, she had it all planned out in her mind. It would be much nicer than the one she'd had here, in the penitentiary. Perfect for a little bundle of joy. She really hadn't had the time to pre-plan before, had never really expected to become pregnant. Had she wanted children? Of course, but her thoughts had never really ventured past that, because part of her thought it would have been impossible. Then again...presenting Joker with the impossible usually led to that thing becoming entirely possible. Not that she'd ever spoken of as much to him.

**"But it won't be completely done, not yet. I gotta get those other two rooms ready,"** she said softly.

He waved the remark off over his shoulder. She could continue whatever little side projects she had planned, it just meant holding on to the construction crew a little while longer. He knew what she wanted to do with one of them and what that could mean in the long run. She wasn't giving up easily, that much was made obvious by how very persistent she was. Normally she'd give up for at least a few weeks when he shot down her advances. Now? Maybe a few days...or hours... Joker had no idea what she wanted with the second room, but as long as the main areas were completed soon he could wait on that one. Shrugging, she went to the door, peering out. While his men might not have to report in, she knew that her men _knew_ one of them would have to report in to at least show her they were _making progress_. Or call. Or something. Yet the main area was still very much empty, and a small scowl played across her features. She'd heard nothing. Maybe...something clicked in her mind. She spun, quite suddenly, on her heel, heels clicking as she crossed over to where Joker stood. **"Puddin', we ran into Bats tonight. I sent my goons out to Wayne's place. Ya don't think...?"**

Ah, the unspoken question. In his state, could Batman have taken her men out? Had he possibly been there? Or maybe Batman wasn't alone. Maybe he had his own little birdboy back, and they'd double-teamed the effort. She'd always been disgusted by the kid, right from the start- what kind of kid hung around such an older guy? The two didn't seem to be father and son, from what she saw, and she had always had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps there was a lovely pedophilic nature hidden within the bat. Regardless, that was taking her thoughts off-topic: the questions that remained were if Bats knew her men had been there, and if he'd interfered.

She moved and he didn't bother to glance back to see what she was doing, not until she came closer and spoke again. **"Well, when in doubt, you know what to do."** Call them. The clown didn't think it was very likely that the bat had interfered with anything in such a way that would prevent Harley's men from returning eventually, but if she felt something was off it was a simple solution. They always had some way to contact their guys, be it by disposable phone or radio.

The man rummaged in his coat pockets for a few seconds, pulling out random items (smoke bomb, hand buzzer, pistol, knife, playing card, rubber chicken - which received an almost surprised glance - and so forth). How did everything in the world find its way into his pockets? The chewed-up chicken toy wasn't the strangest thing he'd ever found in them and he often held the suspicion he was carrying ten or more extra pounds in junk. Not the sort of junk that often turned out to be a deadly little gadget, just junk. By the look and smell of the thing, it had probably been a chew toy for her little pets and the man would simply toss it onto the table.

Harley gave a little surprised exclamation when he began emptying his pockets- more precisely, when the rubber chicken appeared. **"Oh! That's where that went!"** When had she even put it in there? Hm, she couldn't quite remember. The rubber chicken had been a favored toy of her babies, and she kept it out of sentiment. It was well-chewed and probably smelled a bit rank, but oh, well! She still kept it. Why was it in his jacket? Well, his jacket was kind of like a catch-all, after all...

Finally, he produced a cheap, prepaid, cellphone. The sort one could throw away without much thought to the price once a job had been done. He checked in with his own teams, too, though it wasn't usually as often as Harley did with hers. Joker got distracted easily, after all, and expected the boys to report back every few hours on their own. A call Harley usually ended up taking anyway.

There was the possibility her team had run into any number of other criminal types along the way, though it didn't seem likely anyone left in the city would be stupid enough to go up against his or Harley's group and expect to live. He wasn't really worried about them, but then he never really worried about the lackeys. They were expendable and he'd often amused himself by pitting the dimwits against the bat, a game they rarely won.

She took the phone from him, quickly dialing the phone she knew her men would rather die than leave without, beginning to pace as she placed it to her ear. Over, and over, and over it rang- before it finally simply cut off. Hell, there was no voicemail. They had to have a death wish to allow it to ring long enough to go to voicemail, so it was kind of pointless. Growling, she punched the number in again, only to find the same happened.

**"The fuck?"** This was round three, except she dialed a different number- she knew all of the necessary numbers by heart, and this one was for the group of men she'd had in that area, searching through the underground tubes for any signs of Killer Croc.

Attention shifted from the contents of his own pockets and back to the girl when she cursed. The manor group hadn't answered, then, which meant something had gone wrong. What, though? Had they had a run-in with the bat or other little _hero_? Something a little more deadly? There was any number of other villainous types within the city, though they were usually smart enough to avoid really interfering with Joker's or Harley's men. People who crossed them tended to die in new, exciting, ways.

The moment someone picked up, she started in on orders, not even waiting for the grunt that inevitably came during her orders. **"Drop what you're doin', now. I don't care ****_what_**** is in those tubes, get your ****_asses_**** to Wayne Manor. You have half an hour to check in. For every minute you're ****_late_****, I'm cuttin' off a limb, startin' with that one you so adore hangin' between your legs. I wanna know what's goin' on with the men there."** With that, she hung up.

Oh, half an hour was pushing it. They'd really have to haul ass to get there in time, but fear was a lovely motivator. She tossed the phone to the table, sighing. **"I guess I'll figure it out in half an hour. What'll we do til then?"** Her gaze shifted, and for once, she wasn't looking at him with that cunning gleam, as she usually did when she asked what they could do in their spare time. She legitimately needed a way to fill her time, to stop her from growing too terribly angry.


	4. The sweet escape

Phone call finished, she spoke again, and he actually took a second to search for the tone that usually accompanied that question. Paper shuffled and crinkled as the man resettled the blueprints and other plans he'd been looking through. One long finger pointed to the area of the old warden's former office, **"You remember the loft-like area above here,"** A section set above the main room, accessible only by ladder for some reason, it had been filled with old files and the like, **"I've had a staircase installed."** Innocent enough of a comment, sure, but it had also been the closest, most convenient, space for one of the rooms she'd wanted to plan. The only one she'd tell him about.

Harley peered over her love's shoulder as he began to tell her what he'd done, to make the loft easier to access. The comment warmed her. She liked to think that he knew the room would be of use, one day. He knew full well that she'd wanted that room to be a nursery, but she hadn't bothered with it just yet, searching for another- because there was no safe way to transport an infant to and from the room. It was the very closest to where they would...well, not _sleep_, not often, but the room they would call theirs. It was a delightful surprise, that he'd done that for her. She beamed, her mood substantially improving.

**"Thank you, Puddin'!"** She giggled and leaned up on tiptoes to place a kiss to his cheek, not expecting to be allowed to really kiss him.

There were moments, like this, where whatever it was he felt for the girl was able to peek through. Such moments were unpredictable, even to him, and it was often difficult to discern whether it was real or simply a show for whoever may be around (and that included Harley herself). This; however, was one of those rare, real, moments. Joker was rarely without a plan, even if it meant planning for something that may or may not occur. He couldn't say if that little room would ever be put to use, but it would be there.

He gave little to no reaction to the quick peck to his cheek, still focused on ignoring the more uncomfortable emotions that had cropped up toward the end of their fight. The sort that had fueled his initial anger and disappointment and had infused his statement-slash-demand. She simply wasn't allowed to leave him, that's just how it was. Even by her own hand.

Joker didn't like secrets. Especially amongst his crew, but Harley seemed to be the exception to even that rule. Most of the time, anyway, that whole death-wish thing still rubbed him the wrong way. He could wait to learn what the 'surprise' room would be. As long as it wasn't a wing full of animals that viewed him as a walking snack, it probably wouldn't matter anyway. **"I'm turning the old medical building into a sort of barracks for the boys, too."** He had plans for a wider-scale recruitment job, to replenish their forces, and the penitentiary would soon have an actual purpose once they started rounding up their eventual victims for the latest plot.

She then leaned over the blueprints, scanning them herself, frowning slightly. She hadn't quite chosen where the _other_ room would be, not yet. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she placed two fingers on the map, specifying two rooms she knew had cell-like doors. Humming softly under her breath, she finally spoke. **"I need these two. For the special surprise, I mean. Perfect placing. D'ya think we can rig it so a remote trigger of some kind will make the doors swing open?"** That would be perfect. She had missed having furry, vicious companions to cuddle with when Joker was in a bit of a mood. She fully planned to go to the zoo and round up the hyenas there- she was pretty sure there were eight- and adopt them. Since her other two had been killed, she'd really noticed how much she relied on the beasts. Eight more, why not? And if they could rig the cell doors to swing open from the push of a button or the flip of a switch, they could be released upon any intruders with ease.

The man glanced to the rooms she indicated, recalling a mental image of the area itself. The place that had once held the paper files for the facility. Two oddly cell-like rooms; he had never figured out their true purpose. Joker glanced up at her question, just who did she think she was dealing with? Rig two doors with such a simple mechanism? The look he gave her should have said it all, really, **"I'll see what I can do."** Slightly sarcastic, yes, but in the more...playful...way rather than irritated.

Why she wanted those rooms, in particular, was a mystery. His mind churned, going over every tiny possibility. One could do any number of things with that sort of space, but why the automatic doors? No reason to keep guests in such a place, really, so what was she most likely to keep in there? Joker had an inkling, he was just hoping he was wrong. His thoughts wandered to the pair of stuffed beasts in the other room. They had treated him like snack or toy, but they had their uses. Usually only for Harley, of course, as she was the only person they seemed willing to obey.

She giggled, nearly at her own foolishness, at his playfully sarcastic remark. **"Puddin', I know ya can, I just didn't know if ya wanted to do it."** She shook her head, turning to hop onto the table- tables were one of her favorite places to sit. She took care not to place herself atop of any of the plans, knowing that would only frustrate and maybe even anger him. There was no need for more anger, not tonight.

She honestly wasn't sure how he would react to the new additions to their crew. But she was a woman of love and affection, and she craved it like no other. Now, Joker wasn't always cold to her- in fact, he was never _cold_ so much as stern and stubborn. And non-cuddly. She needed that in her life, so surely he would understand...even if those hyenas might see him as a prospective chew toy, she'd put them in their places. She'd even get them to grow nice and big, like her other two. A few toxins, feeding them humans as much as possible...yeah, it would be relatively easy to spur their growth. The last two had reached her shoulders when on all fours. She planned to get them bigger, this round.

It was moments like that, though, which would only solidify Harley's belief in his love for her. He was not a man who dealt with emotions well, and she'd known that from the very start. She did, however, make a point to remember each and every moment that he showed true affection for her- she would remember this, just as she had those other rare moments. Sometimes, maybe, she looked into an action too much, believing it to be truer than it was, but that never occurred to her. He cared. It was as simple as that, in her mind.

Of course, she did have those moments of slight doubt- like when he'd shot her off in a rocket and nearly killed her. That was when she'd met Red- good times, right? She'd paired up with the woman to take down both Joker and Batman, but in the end, her anger had dissolved in the face of his honesty and his apology to her. She was _his_ girl. Their fights far surpassed that of any couple- hell, he'd once almost tricked her into a scheme that involved her own death- but she saw them only as tests. It was bound to happen, right? And still, her loyalty, her love never wavered.

_Mad love. Love changes everything._


	5. Stuck it out this far together

There wasn't any real reason to refuse her request, not that he ever needed one. The doors would be fitted with the remote open feature and it was likely something he'd take care of himself. Smaller alterations like that didn't require a full construction crew and he'd rather be rid of them as soon as the major projects were finished. There wasn't much left to do, just finishing up what would become his (and Harley's) personal room, a few final touches to decor - like replacing that statue of the founder with one of himself and tearing down the remainder of the gargoyles - anything else could be completed on his own or with the help of Harley. Hell, for laughs he might have the henchmen paint the main hall or something, who knew?

Once they had moved, and once they had the boys settled into their new quarters, they could start recruiting again. Sure, their numbers were nowhere near _low_, but Joker had an army on his mind. He fully intended to keep firm control over the city as a whole. It was no secret there were any number of others out there who would like to take Gotham for their own and they needed high numbers to combat those that got a little too ambitious. Harley had been allowed to keep her own men, with their own uniforms, and she'd be just as welcome to add to her own numbers. It would be encouraged, actually, though hers would never be allowed to outnumber his.

Her eyes traced his face as he poured over the blueprints (his attention had roamed back to the map and the thoughts flying through his head) , the smile on her face transforming into a small frown of worry. She'd been counting- for two weeks now, he hadn't slept, had barely eaten, and had survived on mainly coffee. Pursing her lips, she reached to touch his chin lightly, wanting his attention. **"Ya gonna try to sleep tonight, Mistah Jay? Maybe...eat somethin'?"** She worried over him constantly, more so after his 'death'. He knew these talks were inevitable.

Joker's head snapped toward Harley at her touch, the man frowning slightly at her question before turning back to the papers spread under his hands. How long had he been awake this time? Had to be more than a few days if she asking him about it. He chuckled lightly, the former excitement of finding his old foe again creeping back in, **"Oh I can go a few more days, there's just so much to ****_do_****!"**

Of course, once they had all their information together and knew who to target, it was highly likely the man would forget to sleep for yet another week or longer. Sleep and food came secondary, he could survive on very little of each. They weren't important until basic biology took over and forced him to either shut down and nap for a few hours or find some small, suitable, snack. Joker habitually pushed himself to his own limits, even if he didn't set out to do so. His thoughts were always in a hundred different places, such basic needs just didn't factor in.

Harley could not help the scowl that crossed her face, her hands shifting to lift her slight frame and move _over_ in front of him- sitting directly on the plans he was looking over. Her expression was extremely displeased, and worry filled her eyes. Okay, so, _maybe_ she should be used to this by now; his record was somewhere around a month and a half straight without sleep, wasn't it? And he'd come out of it fine- with her basically shoving food down his throat, that is. She could keep him fed, at least, and would bring him coffee when he ran out, because she knew how he thrived on caffeine. The thing was, however, that she didn't like it. Not one bit.

You'd think that maybe she'd step a bit more lightly around an angry Joker. You know, considering she'd almost died by his hands more than once, but hey, that was in the past. Besides, she'd proven each time that she was insanely hard to kill, even for him. (Strange, wasn't it? Both of them had survived experiences that should've killed them.) In that sense, she considered herself safe...enough. Besides, with how protective he'd been as of late, she really didn't worry that he would kill her.

**"Puddin', ****_please._**** Ya know how worried I get..."** Her lips pressed forth in a pout, though her hands firmly gripped the edge of the table, anticipating any sort of reaction possible- even physical. Though her tone was more worried than anything else, the next words held an odd firmness. **"You ****_need_**** ta get some sleep. And eat. You ain't eaten in four days now!"**

_Her_ expression; however, was nothing compared to _his_ when her butt blocked out his view of the blueprints. A growl of frustration slipped from him, the man reaching up to shove her clean off the desk. She knew how this worked, did she really want to test him after the fight they'd already had that night? His mood could still go either way, honestly. Yes he was sliding back toward a better night, but it could switch in an instant. Then again, that's how it always was. The tiniest thing could trigger an explosion of anger even when he was in the highest of spirits.

**"Oh but you ****_know_**** how I like to watch my ****_figure_****."** Sarcasm, again. At least it wasn't anger, right?

Unfortunately for Harley, her grip on the table wasn't enough to keep her from being unceremoniously shoved to the floor. The table itself did shift, but her grip was easily lost- maybe she hadn't been holding onto it as hard as she'd thought. It was with a pronounced, **_"Ooof!"_** that she hit the ground, directly on her _ass_- which, she would gladly tell you, one's ass does not become more durable the more you land on it. If anything, you simply get used to the ache with time. Except she hadn't.

He shifted his attention back to what papers he could gather, trying to go right back to what he'd been doing before, yet the thoughts had scattered and refused to settle again. She huffed, glaring up at him. He had to know this wasn't over, not just yet. In fact, he seemed to know that, because the moment her gaze rose to his face, he was turning and stalking out of the room. Obstinately, she stuck her tongue out at his back, rubbing her rear end as she stood. **"Stubborn son of a...****_Puuuuddin'!_****"** Unlike how she would once have whined, she now nearly growled the word, stalking after him.

A glance around the main room reminded him that it was, indeed, empty. Huh, neither of them had noted the time when she'd given her men such a tight deadline. It didn't _really_ matter, of course. They could be early and she may still take pieces. The man reached the coffee pot and the old coffee, along with the used filter and old grounds, would be dumped into the little trash can near the table. What did he care if it leaked? It was the boys' job to take out the trash, usually. Unless Harley got fed up and did it first. After retrieving water from a nearby restroom, a fresh pot would be started and Joker would wait impatiently for it to brew enough to fill a cup. Coffee was kept him running most of the time, his substitute for sleep and for food. It was something that didn't force him to stop working even for a second if he didn't wish to.

**"Coffee ain't gonna fill your stomach, Mistah Jay."** She stepped past him, opening the mini-fridge and searching for a moment...huh, who'd bought a sub? Of all things. There was a name scribbled on the wrapper, but Harley ignored that. She snatched the sandwich out, turning to go to Joker's side and holding it out, eyeing him with a stubborn expression. **"Here. Can't you just eat half a sub for me? ****_Please?_****"**

He would give an exaggerated roll of the eyes when she persisted in bugging him about his own eating habits. Technically, the coffee _could_ fill his stomach, it just wouldn't be in the way she was pushing for. He didn't _need_ solids at the moment. His stomach wasn't complaining yet which meant he didn't need food. The man was used to operating on the bare minimum in that regard, preparing food and sitting to eat took too much time out of the day that could be better used for plotting. Or carrying out plots. Or tormenting the henchmen.

The man yanked the coffee pot off the machine just as soon as it had brewed enough to fill a mug. He didn't wait for it to cool, either, sipping at the scalding liquid as if it were room temperature. Her offer was met with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise blank stare, over the rim of his cup. A sub? Really? **"No****_pe_****."** The end of the word popped. If he didn't want it there was really little she could do besides continue to annoy him, which was always met with some level of violent reaction on his end. Besides, the thing didn't look or sound anywhere near appetizing at the moment.

The harlequin scowled, sticking her tongue out at him for good measure. **"Hmph. Ya know what, fine."** Huffing, she tossed the sub into the nearby trash- if someone was stupid enough to complain about it, she'd just have another person to carve up, right? One of her favorite pastimes these days. She'd grown increasingly violent in the time spent waiting for the bat to reappear, and now that he had...and she _still_ had no outlet for that residual anger...well. She needed the excitement, anyways. Sometimes they struggled. That was always fun.

Perhaps it had begun when she'd first met him. Eyes gaunt from lack of sleep and his frame extremely undernourished- she'd demanded to see records of his eating schedule, his sleep schedule, the works. She could remember, even today, the worry she'd felt when she'd discovered he wasn't sleeping- period- and that he had only eaten every few days, when he damn well felt like it. Nobody could coax him to eat, threaten him to eat- nothing of the sort worked. He only ate when he wanted to. Perhaps that had been the beginning.

Or- if you wanted to go by the logic of her true feelings being sparked much further along than that first session- maybe it was when he had been dragged back to Arkham by the Batman himself, unceremoniously dumped at the feet of the orderlies. _"Don't let him escape again,"_ had been the vigilante's order- as though they could have stopped what happened next. As though _Joker_ would be escaping anytime soon on his own, considering the state he was in. She'd collapsed in tears, held back from going to him by the other doctors- and sent home. Mistake number _one_ of _many_ they'd made that night. That same night, she had become Harley-Quinn, abandoning her old life for a new one- with him.

Either way you wanted to look at it, it was clear- the whole of the time she had been by Joker's side, she had _worried_. You know, in the beginning, it wasn't all that bad. She'd let him do as he pleased, her protests being generally easy to quiet after a few harsh words on his part. (Or a good ol' fashioned flinging into a wall, to the floor, etc. etc. Whatever worked.) Yet since his _death_, she'd become downright insufferable, she was sure. He could warn her, blatantly tell her to leave him alone, shove her away, threaten her all he _damn well pleased_- and she still came back. Prodding. Worrying. Obsessing over his health.

It didn't matter, though, Joker only ate when _he_ deemed it necessary. Right now, it wasn't. He knew his own limits better than she did and it was an old argument she refused to let go. Hell, she'd gotten _worse_ about it lately, which was something he hadn't thought possible. He'd gone longer than a mere four days without food before, much longer. Especially during his little stays as an inmate at the very facility they now controlled. The food was just terrible.

Joker made a move as if to check an invisible watch. The man didn't wear such things, of course, they didn't quite fit with the image. **"How long 'till your boys start losing pieces, hm?"** He was actually rooting for them to be late. It had been far too long since he'd witnessed a good dismemberment. To watch Harley carry it out was just a bonus. The Clown stepped toward her, reaching with his free hand in an effort to capture her chin, **"Between you and me, I'm really hoping they're late,"** A little chuckle followed the words. What could he say? The girl looked good in _red_.

If all else failed, he was certain there were one or two of his own men he could spare for a little fun. The excitement of having the bat-brain back in the picture and all the wondrous little plots they had brewing had him somewhat restless. He wanted blood and pain and was willing to sacrifice one of the more useless henchmen to get it if need be. Not that he wasn't _always_ more than willing to sacrifice them for his own purposes. They were little more than tools, after all. Tools and playthings.

Score one for him. The subject of food would be dropped in favor of wayward henchmen, which was what he'd been aiming for. She'd left the phone in the other room, though and just shrugged lightly - though a slight smile began playing over her lips. **"Should've checked in a good ten minutes ago."** A lie. A blatant, obvious lie that neither of them gave a flying fuck about. Time worked by their standards, after all. Hell, she wasn't even sure how much time had passed. **"So that's, what, ten bits? Well, it wouldn't be ****_fair_**** to take them all from one guy. Gotta be fair, right, Puddin'?"** For all they cared it could have been less than a minute that passed between the first call and the one she expected and they'd still cut into the men.

He laughed again, lightly, when she spoke of fairness, **"Of ****_course_****,"** It was only right they not show favoritism, after all. It could lead to arguments within the-...Joker made a quick mental note to pick a lackey and offer unexplained favoritism, to see what happened with the rest.

Giggling, she pulled free of his grasp only to move back to the room they'd been in and snatch the phone from the table. Hm, no missed calls yet.

She was already on the phone by the time she'd stepped back towards the main area, a haphazard glance given to the blood stain on the floor nearby. Nobody had cleaned it up correctly, but she didn't quite care. **"Ten minutes. Ten pieces. Where the fuck are you?"** As soon as her henchman had answered the phone, Harley was snarling at him. She wasn't _really_ angry- rather, she was excited at the coming bloodshed- but instilling fear wasn't a bad thing. His response, however, had her pausing in her steps, a mere foot or two from Joker, which earned a curious glance from the man. **_"They were what?"_** Something unusual must have happened for her to react like that.

_"Either charred or chewed, boss. Like some wild animal got at some of 'em, and the others were burned."_

**"That does not sound like...alright, whatever, get your asses back here, an' bring two bodies with ya. One of each ****_flavor_****. ****_Fast._****"** She hung up, tossing the phone to the floor with a curious expression on her face. That wasn't the bat's way. He didn't burn, and he didn't chew on the faces of villains. Unless. Well. **"Maybe he went rabid,"** she murmured as an afterthought, and then chuckled as she pictured it. Batnomnom. Another laugh, this one more pronounced. She crossed the last bit of the distance between herself and Joker, an amused and devious smirk on her face. **"So, Puddin', either Bats has become a total pyro and has rabies, or we got some new toys to play with."**

Joker's look stayed in place through the orders she gave to the team on the other end of the line (so to speak) and an amused chuckle would escape him at the mental image of a rabid Batman. Rabies didn't _quite_ fit with how he'd acted during their last little meeting, so his bet was on a new arrival of some sort.

**"Oh I hope he's frothing at the mouth, though I suppose a little new blood wouldn't be ****_too_**** bad,"** It may add a little variety to their days. They were fairly familiar with the more established heroes and could predict most of their moves. Someone new would add a dash of excitement until they learned the patterns. Which, honestly, never took long enough. If they were lucky, maybe they had a connection to Bats that they could use. If that wasn't the case, perhaps they could capture the mysterious figure and use them anyway. Bat-brain wasn't one to leave a random _innocent_ in their lair if he could help it, he'd proved that many times before.

He brought the mug to his lips again, draining another third of the liquid, **"I think we should give them a ****_welcoming_**** party, its only ****_polite_****."** Yes, offer this mysterious new figure an official welcome to the neighborhood. Any occasion for a few fireworks was a good one, right? Joker had more than a few extra special ones hidden away that could start the party off with a real _bang_.


End file.
